Catachresis
by Xavien
Summary: Entropy, Chaos Incarnate, is causing havoc in Heaven again. The Reincarnation Engine's arguments are screwed up, and it's causing loads of problems. Especially for one James Potter, who suddenly finds himself in an interesting purr-edicament... (H/G)
1. Chapter 1: All In A Day’s Work (Prolog...

**Catachresis** – a Harry Potter fanfiction by Xavien R. Maxwell 

All characters and subject matter appearing herein are the copyrighted © creations of J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and are borrowed for the purposes of this fanfiction. No money in any form was earned in its production.

* * *

**catachresis** (kat A kreh sis), n. A figure by which one word is wrongly put for another, or by which a word is wrested from its true significance.

_Source: Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996, 1998 MICRA, Inc._

* * *

**Chapter 1: All In A Day's Work (Prologue)**

Everyone in St. Peter's Bar and Grille noticed when he walked in. All eyes were on him as he paused to shake the excess clouds from his shoes, as he swaggered up to the bar, as he signaled cheekily to the angel of a waitress, whose eyes widened in nervous apprehension.

He gave her his order lazily, noticing with satisfaction that her halo had gone a bit crooked in her panic. His grin widened even more at the thought, which was remarkable as his grin had already been mile-wide upon his arrival.

"Will that be all?" the waitress asked shakily, eyeing the grin.

He nodded, and with a petrified squeak she fled. She hadn't been the only one, either, he noted with a glance around the room: though it had been brimming with patrons when he'd walked in, only a few of the braver souls remained. Of course, they were seated in a corner booth, as far away from him as possible.

Mentally he saluted them. After all, it took real guts to chance dining with Entropy, Chaos Incarnate. Especially when he was grinning like a loon.

The waitress made a brief appearance, just long enough to set his beer on the counter before dashing off to hide again. He twitched a finger, and with a surprised squawk she caught her toe on something and crashed to the floor.

He supposed he should have felt sorry for her. But he never apologized for doing his job, so he took the opportunity to look up her short little skirt as she picked herself up and hobbled away. Smiling, he sipped his beer and relaxed.

He'd done good that day. Real good. And if he wasn't mistaken, the shit would be hitting the fan just about…

Across the room, one of the brave souls in the corner booth suddenly came to attention. After a moment's confusion, he reached into a pocket, pulled out a slim wireless phone, and talked into it for a moment. Entropy cracked another smile when the guy's halo drooped progressively lower as the conversation developed:

"What? What's going on? Uh huh… Uh huh… It's WHAT?… Yes… Of course, you idiot, do whatever's necessary!… Yeah. You think it's salvageable?… Mmm… Right. Yeah, I'll be there in a second. Bye."

He hung up and glared daggers across the room at Entropy, who waved merrily back. Standing, the guy huffily straightened his halo, marched toward the bar, and scowled. "What did you do?!" he demanded angrily.

Entropy shrugged nonchalantly and sipped his beer. "Ah, nothin' big. Switch a couple choice words in the Reincarnation Engine's arguments, what's the big deal? That system's completely random anyway."

"Random?! That system's as far from random as it can get! There's karma and enlightenment and all sorts of variables to be considered, and… oh, hell, what do you care? Why He made you in the first place, I have no idea. You only cause trouble, anyway." And he stormed out.

Entropy snorted dismissively at the guy's back and turned back to the bar, downing the rest of his beer in one long pull.  
Why He made him in the first place, honestly… wasn't it obvious?

SOMEBODY had to make things interesting around there.


	2. Chapter 2: Not Quite the Runt of the Li...

**Catachresis** – a Harry Potter fanfiction by Xavien R. Maxwell 

All characters and subject matter appearing herein are the copyrighted © creations of J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and are borrowed for the purposes of this fanfiction. No money in any form was earned in its production.

* * *

**catachresis** (kat A kreh sis), n. A figure by which one word is wrongly put for another, or by which a word is wrested from its true significance.

_Source: Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996, 1998 MICRA, Inc._

* * *

**Chapter 2: Not Quite the Runt of the Litter**

  
  
The farmer led the woman into the barn, wincing as her two screaming kids started up their third fight in five minutes. "They're over here," he said dully, gesturing at the small wooden pen he'd built six weeks earlier.

He smiled when she bent over the pen and cooed, almost tasting the crisp fiver that would soon be lining his pockets. Ambling over, he said, "Cute, eh? They be me last two. Was seven of 'em, but they went like quicksilver, they did."

In the pen, the two tiny kittens mewed, little paws braced against the wood to bring them closer to the woman's face. She made little adoring sounds at them. "Oh, they're lovely lil' creatures, how will we choose?"

One of the children poked his head over the pen and wrinkled his nose. "They're too fluffy," he moaned. "I want our cat to be big and fierce, like a tiger. Can't we get a tiger, Mum? He'll kill all the rats in the cellar surely."

"Oh shut up," said his sister sourly, appearing next to him. "You're so stupid, you don't even know that tigers are wild. A tiger'd slash you to ribbons the moment you tried to pet it. A kitten'd be much nicer. Ooh, that gray one is so cute, Mum, can't we have that one?" she said, giving her mother a winning smile.

The woman shrugged. "Well, that's that decided, I suppose. We'll take it."

"Yer sure?" the farmer asked, looking at the two kittens. "The marmalade's rather fetching, as well. Got nice eyes. Not even gonna consider him?"

"She wants the gray one," the woman said again, shrugging. The farmer shrugged back and scooped the gray kitten from the pen, leaving the marmalade kitten alone to watch as they trooped out of the barn.

The kitten squeaked once, hopefully, but no one came back. In resignation, he dropped from the wall of the pen to sit dejectedly in the straw, gazing with soulful gray eyes at the now empty enclosure.

_I'm alone._

This thought didn't settle well. Granted, the mother cat and six kittens he'd spent the last several weeks with hadn't exactly been stimulating company, but at least they'd been there. Now that they'd all gone, the world suddenly seemed like a very big place. And a very silent one.

The barn door opened again, and the farmer stepped back inside, trudging over to the pen to give the kitten a sympathetic look. "Well, looks like yer the last, eh?"

The kitten mewled pitifully. _Maybe…_

"Well, it hardly seems kind ta leave ye out here all alone in the dark. What say I make ye a basket in the house tonight?"

_Yes!_

He felt like dancing as the farmer picked him up and carried him off toward the farm house. _No more cold barn, no more prickly straw… I could sing!_

Instead, though, he purred, and was rewarded with a scritch behind the ears. With a chuckle, the farmer went into the house and dropped him with a plop onto the carpet. "Now, mind that ye don't tear anything up, or the misses'll have me head," the farmer warned, shaking a disapproving finger at him before walking off.

He had the whole house to himself! Gaily, he gave a little jump of excitement and scampered into what appeared to be the sitting room. Immediately he laid eyes on a basket of yarn. _Ooh, that's that yarn that the mother cat was talking about_, he thought, and bounded into the basket.

_Now, if I hit it with my hand like so, it's supposed to be loads of fun. Now, how…?_

Experimentally, he batted one of the balls, and watched it roll away. He batted another one, and watched as that one unwound, as well. He stared at it awhile.

_I don't get it_, he finally decided, and hopped up onto the chair next to the basket. He landed on a small rectangular box that was sitting on the cushion, and when his paw hit it, the big box across the room lit up with a blaze of color and sound.

_Hey, they've got one of those telly-whatzits. I wonder what's on?_ Examining the little rectangular box, which he figured was the remote control, he eventually found the channel button and was soon flipping from station to station. _Hey, this looks interesting_, he thought as he came across a show with a raven-haired woman clad in armor and swinging a huge sword.

The farmer walked back in, took one look at the kitten watching the telly, and blinked. "I mus' be gettin' barmy in me old age," the farmer said wearily. "C'mon, off ye go!"

The kitten just barely avoided the farmer's hand as it swatted him off the chair. "Hey, I was watching that!" he snarled in aggravation, glaring as the farmer changed the channel.

The farmer stared at the kitten much longer this time. "Did you just talk? Naw… naw, I mus' be hearin' things. Maybe I need a pill or two," the farmer muttered, heading off to the kitchen.

The kitten paid no attention, lost in his own thoughts. _Hmph. Can't even watch the telly-whatzit. All I wanted to do was get my mind off things, really. Gosh, it's quiet in here._

He sighed a little kitten sigh.

_I'm still alone. I hate this. Where IS everybody? Where am I, for that matter?_

Hopping up onto the windowsill, he gazed out into the blackness, at the quiet barnyard with its sleeping animals. _Last thing I remember_, he thought,_ is…_

A flash of green light. A high-pitched scream. A baby's wail.

A cruel laugh.

It came to him all at once, and had him reeling. _Oh my god, Lily! Harry! Get out, he's coming, he's… he's…_

_He's come and gone_, he realized with sudden clarity. _I'm dead._

_I'm dead?_

_I don't feel dead. No, no, I can't be dead. I've been alive for… a good couple months, actually. That's as far back as I can remember at the moment. What happened before that?_

He strained his brain, trying to recall, but all he came up with was a feeling of patience, of incandescence, of suspension. _Was I dead then?_

_Yes. But I'm not now._

_So I've come back then. Just as well; I wasn't finished the first time around. Well, now that that's settled, I just need to get off this windowsill and go find out what the hell has happened since I died…_

But one of those thoughts struck him amiss. _What on earth am I doing on a windowsill?_

And then he caught his own reflection in the glass, and scared the farmer senseless yet again with his horrified scream.

_I'm a cat I'm a cat I'm a cat I'm a cat I'm a CAT!!! _

It was all there: the fluffy marmalade fur, the little pink nose, the whiskers, the paws, the tiny little claws. His eyes were still the same smoldering gray, and the fur on his head did still stick up a little, but other than that he was completely, one-hundred-and-one-percent felis domesticus.

_Why in the HELL am I a cat?! What is this, some kind of sick joke?!_ He paced broodingly back and forth on the windowsill and was just about ready to give himself a vigorous tongue bath when he stopped himself. _Whoa, instincts, hold up there._

_Okay, c'mon, think, think, what to do, what to do… Dammit, I'm not supposed to be a cat! I'm supposed to be human! I'm supposed to be James Potter, black hair, gray eyes, six feet tall, not a cute little ball of fluff with a tail!_

_Hey, I do have a tail, don't I? That's pretty neat…_

_No._ He flattened that train of thought instantly. _Not neat. Not at all. In no way is being a cat a good thing._

_Well, there is the night-vision thing. And the agility will come in handy, I'm sure. Compact, speedy. And no one would be the wiser. Damn, I'd be the perfect spy._

_Maybe it isn't so bad after all. 'Course, it'd be nice if I had someone to talk to. Not that I could actually talk, but still…_

James sighed in resignation and looked around. His eyes fell upon the remote control still sitting in the chair. He looked from it to the television, to the kitchen where the farmer was still puttering around. _Probably still looking for pills_, he thought wryly. _Must've really gotten a good scare when I…_

_No… no way. It's not possible… is it? Worth a try, I guess…_

"Testing," he said, and about fell off the windowsill in shock. "Hello," he tried again. And again, and again, and before long he was laughing aloud in pure pleasure. "I can talk!" he cried to the room, "Do you hear me? I'm a talking cat!"

And then he immediately shut himself up. True, he felt good enough to butcher his way through the French National Anthem just because he could, but he didn't want to give the poor farmer a coronary. Smiling cattily, he curled up on the windowsill, looking out the window sleepily, and planning.

_Tomorrow, I'll make my way back home. Somehow – I don't have my wand anymore, so I'll have to do things the hard way, but I'll do it. Tomorrow, though. Tonight, I'm going to sleep in this nice, warm house, and dream of Lily. I wonder what ever happened to her?_

_I hope she's alright. _

_Please let her be alright._  



	3. Chapter 3: The Long Journey Home

**Catachresis** – a Harry Potter fanfiction by Xavien R. Maxwell 

All characters and subject matter appearing herein are the copyrighted © creations of J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and are borrowed for the purposes of this fanfiction. No money in any form was earned in its production.

* * *

**catachresis** (kat A kreh sis), n. A figure by which one word is wrongly put for another, or by which a word is wrested from its true significance.

_Source: Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996, 1998 MICRA, Inc._

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Long Journey Home**

James awoke to the smell of frying bacon, which, he thought, sounded like a much better breakfast than the warm milk and kitten chow he'd been living on for the last few months. Stretching a bit, he hopped down from the windowsill and padded into the kitchen. A plump, jolly old woman was standing at the stove, humming as she peppered eggs. "Breakfast is ready!" she yelled, presumably at her absent husband.

Standing back a bit, James flicked his tail back and forth as he pondered how best to go about getting his share of the food. _Let's see now. Old woman, hungry kitten… yes, the cute act is definitely the way to go._

As she shuffled past his position, he reached out with a paw and batted at her ankle. She stopped at the contact, puzzled by it, and looked down, only to meet James's gray eyes, which he made wide and innocent. He threw in a hopeful mew for color, and watched with satisfaction as her heart visibly melted into a gooey puddle. 

"Ahh, aren't ye a sweet one!" she cooed, reaching down to scratch under his chin. "How'd ye get in here, I wonder? Ah well."

She turned back to the stove, smiling down at him when he followed and swatted playfully at the hem of her housedress. "Yer a lively one, plain enough." With a conspiratorial glance around to make sure they were alone, she took up one of the strips of bacon from the pan and dropped it to the floor. "Now don't tell him I be givin' you his breakfast," she whispered with a little giggle.

James grinned righteously and dragged the bacon off into a corner of the room next to the door, where he settled down to a fine meal. _Damn, I'm good_, he thought smugly. _Shameless, but good._

By the time he'd finished the bacon and was licking his paws clean of grease, the farmer had come in, not even noticing the kitten feasting in the corner. After a brief but pleasant conversation with his wife, he took his coat off the hook and shrugged it on as he went out the door. Not one to pass up opportunity, James darted out after him just before the door banged shut.

It didn't take the farmer long to notice the kitten nipping at his heels, and he chuckled. "Goin' ta help me with the chores, are ye?" he said, bending down to pat him on the head before carrying on toward the barn.

James stopped following him then, and watched as the farmer disappeared. _No, just trying to thank you_, he thought, and with a wave of his tail he left the farm behind and started off down the road.

He kept to the far right of the pavement, so he could see any of the Muggle cars that happened to pass by in plenty of time to get out of the way. There weren't many cars to worry about out there, though; a couple times a little dilapidated car or truck puttered by, but otherwise the road was clear.

_I wonder what direction I'm going?_, he thought as he padded along. _What direction should I be going?_

_They say all roads lead to London, but if I'm heading the wrong way, I could end up by the sea instead. Or in Scotland._

_Hmm. Hogwarts is in Scotland. Maybe I should try to go there? Dumbledore would know what to do._

_That is, if Dumbledore's even alive anymore. How long has it been since I died? I need to find a magazine or something – at least then I'd know what day it was. For all I know, this could be sometime in the thirtieth century, and all the people I know are long dead._

_Yeah, right, James. You think Muggles will still be driving junky cars in the thirtieth century? Maybe it's only been a few months… maybe I was sent back the same moment I died…_

_I can only hope._

Eventually, he made it to the end of the road, where it ran headlong into another road that curved toward a small town in the distance. _What luck! If I head there, I might find someone that's going to London or Hogsmeade or something. Or a place with a train station. That's what I need, a train, then I can go anywhere I want._

_Maybe I'll get really lucky and the Hogwarts Express will come chugging by in a minute. Or the Knight Bus. That would be helpful. Chances are slim to none, though, without my wand to hail it._

_Or maybe Sirius will come roaring down from the sky on that flying motorcycle of his.  
Padfoot. I wonder if he's alright. And Moony, and…_

_Wormtail._ He gave an involuntary hiss when he thought of Peter Pettigrew. _That fucking rat! I thought he was our friend, and all that time he was licking Voldemort's boots behind our backs! _

_I hope he's rotting in Azkaban right now._

Incensed, the thought of Peter cowering under the gaze of Dementors carried him the rest of the way to town. It wasn't a very big place: there were a few small shops, a grocer, a hardware store, a fueling station, and some houses.

"All the comforts of home," James muttered in a low voice. He dashed across the road and slinked around the tire of a pickup truck. He spotted the vehicle's owner inside the station, chatting up the pretty cashier, so he waited patiently until the guy came out again.

Farmer, James assessed instantly, getting an eyeful of the man's scuffed jeans and dusty cap. Shaking his head, he watched as the truck pulled away, and trotted into the station.

After indulging himself in a quick petting session with the cashier, he poked around in the merchandise. There was a rack of Muggle candy underneath the counter, and a display of cigarettes behind it. Against one wall stood a cooler containing bottled drinks, but James didn't bother looking for pumpkin juice amongst the merchandise. Instead, he spotted the stack of newspapers next to the door, and his eyes lit up.

With one bound he was perched on the top of the stack and studying the front page. He found the date, and his mouth dropped open in shock.

_April 14, 1997?! But that means… that means I've been dead for…_

_Sixteen years?! No, it can't be!_

But he read a few of the headlines, and the truth of the matter slowly became apparent. _Plans to go to Mars? Good grief, we just went to the Moon… And who's this Clinton bloke?_

_It HAS been sixteen years… wow. I'd have been thirty-seven years old._

_Harry would have been turning seventeen in July. Almost a grown man._

James felt the tears stinging his eyes, and forced himself to turn away from the newspapers. _No use dwelling on the… the distant past. Can't change it. Can only live with it…_

_Dammit, he was only a baby! Why, Peter, why?!_

Slowly, he dragged himself out of the station and collapsed next to a petrol pump, watching as another farmer pulled his pickup truck in to refuel._ I've got to find a way back… back somewhere. Hogsmeade, or London, or Godric's Hollow, I don't care. Just give me a way back, please…_

He sat there for two complete days, watching each and every vehicle that came into the station, and losing more and more hope each time he saw the farmers that drove them. He managed to get his paws on the station's supply of beef jerky, which took a great deal of effort to open, but were rather delectable once he managed it. Once he'd thought he'd struck gold when a shiny little convertible drove in, but it had been headed for the Atlantic coast, and he'd watched it speed away with a despairing sigh.

It was nearly noon on the third day when the tour bus puttered into the station. James perked up from his lunch of cheese crackers, which he'd managed to steal when the cashier wasn't looking, and watched with interest as the driver filled up. The people inside were looking about with polite disinterest, as if wishing they were somewhere more exotic and interesting.

The driver ambled inside to pay, and when James heard him tell the cashier that he was taking the group back to London after a week of sightseeing, he almost shouted aloud in joy. Stealthily, he darted across the lot, bounded through the door of the bus, and was soon curled contentedly underneath the driver's seat. The driver, of course, took no notice as he boarded the bus and set it roaring down the road and out of town.

The trip took a good number of hours. James catnapped to pass the time, and when he woke up, the bus was empty and parked in a London bus terminal. Grinning to himself, he trotted leisurely out the open door and took a look around.

The sun was reduced to a mere sliver on the horizon. Looking up, he could see the London skyline, a good distance away, but nothing he couldn't manage. 

_Now let's see_, James thought as he ambled down the sidewalk, _What was the name of the Muggle road that Lily said had access to the Leaky Cauldron? Sharing-something… no, Charing. Charing Cross Road. That's it._

_But how to get there from here?_ Frowning in consternation, he absently lifted his front paw to scratch his ear as he puzzled.

A strong wind blew up suddenly, ruffling his fur, but he ignored it, too preoccupied with his thoughts. The jolting boom that sounded from somewhere behind him he ignored, too, as well as the screech of tires. But he didn't manage to ignore the wave of muddy water that splashed over him when a vehicle sliced through a puddle. James shrieked wildly, careening backward into a mailbox. His short feline temper snapped instantly, and with claws bared he whirled to give whoever had violated him a piece of his mind.

A huge, purple doubledecker bus idled next to the curb, positively reeking of magic, which was why none of the people nearby seemed to notice it, even though it had just made a spectacular entrance. James forgot his anger at the sight of it, remembering all too well the many tight spots the Knight Bus had helped him out of in his previous life.

A door slid open, and a gangly, acne-ridden young man poked his head out. "Who stuck out their wand arm?" he asked, looking around.

James glanced down at his paw in sudden understanding, scratched his ear again, and shook the water from his fur. "I did," he said, walking toward the bus.

"'Choo hidin' for?" the young man asked, searching around in bewilderment.

"I'm not hiding, I'm right here… no, here!" James groaned when the young man twisted his head frantically. "Look down!"

He did, and stared dumbly. "A cat?"

James sighed. "Yes, a cat. Can I get a ride, please?"

"Er… well, alright. Guess so. All aboard, then," the young man said, standing aside so James could clamber onto the bus. "Never had a cat passenger before. I'm Stan Shunpike, by the way. 'Chur name?"

"James."

"You ent lyin', now, are you? That's what Neville did when we picked 'im up couple years back. Said 'is name was Neville, but it ent really."

"Fascinating," said James dryly. "How long will it take to get to the Leaky Cauldron?"

Stan eyed him dubiously. "Well, you'd normally get yer turn after everyone else's, but seein' as it's jus' across the city…" Trailing off, he ambled up to the driver and spoke to him a moment. The next thing James knew, the bus had appeared with an almighty bang on Charing Cross Road, right in front of the Leaky Cauldron, where it squealed to a halt.

Luckily for James, who had no money to speak of, Stan didn't even think of charging a cat for a ride. Stan just waved as James hopped off the bus, a dazed look in his eyes. Then, with another bang, the bus was gone.

James rolled his eyes. "Idiot."

Turning, he took a long look at the natty little pub, and at all the passing Muggles that didn't even spare it a glance. _Beyond that door is my world. I'm finally back._

_So why do I feel like I've just swallowed a bowl of flobberworms?_

_Because I'm afraid that it might not be the world I remember. What if everything has changed? What if I don't find anyone that I recognize?_

_What if all my friends are dead?_

Uneasiness chilling him to the very core, James quietly slipped through the door of the Leaky Cauldron behind some customers.

And sighed in relief when he realized the place hadn't changed much at all.

_There's something to be said for such dependability_, he thought with a fond glance at the familiar bar, with wizened old Tom still tending it faithfully. No matter how much times changed, or how hard things got, it was comforting to know that places like this would always be there for you in the end.

_So silly of me to think otherwise. I'm worrying too much._

The tavern was hosting a variety of patrons that night, many of which, to James's delight, were willing to sneak a couple morsels to the pets under the table. He spent a pleasurable half-hour just mingling and sampling the menu – the two witches at the center table were quite generous with their onion rings. Finally, when he started to feel as though he couldn't even look at food anymore without vomiting, he curled up contentedly on a barstool and watched the people go in and out, feeling very sleepy and satisfied. It wasn't quite home, but it was civilization, and that would do for the time being. At least, for the night.

Around eleven-thirty, the crowds started to wear thin, and the more serious drinkers started to emerge. The two witches still occupied the center table, now joined by a couple of hopeful young wizards who laughed raucously at anything that was even remotely humorous. In the corner booth, an older wizard in romantic red robes was quietly drowning his sorrows after being stood up by his intended. And James had almost been sat upon earlier by a tearful woman who'd been blubbering about her son, who'd been admitted to St. Mungo's that afternoon. Tom had required assistance in carrying her up to one of the spare rooms when she'd finally collapsed in a drunken stupor.

It actually made him a bit jealous. He badly missed being human. His current body wasn't anything to sniff at, of course, but it just wasn't the same.

What he wouldn't have given for a drink right now. But alas, his weak kitten stomach had struggled hard enough with onion rings, much less hard liquor.

A merry jangle sounded as the back door – the one that led to Diagon Alley – opened, and a rather tired-looking wizard entered the tavern. James raised his head to get a look, and about gasped aloud.

Tom looked up at the new arrival and smiled fondly. 

"Evenin', Remus."  



End file.
